Feb 14th: Worst Day of the Year
by The Prussian Duelist
Summary: I hate Valentine's Day and just about everything to do with it. Yet here I am, flustered over a stupid Valentine. What's wrong with me! Ed 1POV, AU, T for language. EdRoy.


Valentine's Day sucked. It really did. There was just something about the flowers, chocolates, cards, people, and rituals that made the whole day a rotten, stupid, unforgiveable waste of time. Who the hell even wanted to go through the motions of leaving roses in someone's locker? And why were the people on the receiving end of those roses never upset over the fact that someone _broke into their locker _to leave a bunch of flowers there? It didn't even make any sense. And the Secret Admirer thing? Just as bad as everything else, if not worse and more confusing.

So why in the hell was I participating in this load of crap this year? Why was I torturing myself over the question of roses, chocolates, or letter? I wouldn't stoop to the level of those that bought the pre-written crap. But that's beside the point! I was being a complete idiot, sweating it out over a freakin' Valentine's gift.

I suppose it's understandable to freak out a bit, but really! I have friggin' nerves of steel! I'll as soon as give you a swift jab to the gut as shake your hand, damn it! The only food I despise is milk (it makes me sick, shut up)! And the only person that scares me is... well, actually, there isn't a person around who scares me, besides maybe myself. Or Al in the morning. That's pretty scary, admittedly. But I'll be damned if I don't admit that this whole Valentine thing scared the living hell out of me!

I guess that it's because of the situation I've gotten myself into, having lost a bet to Al (why else would I be doing any of this crap?)... I never should have (1.) told him that I liked anyone, (2.) who the person I liked was, or (3.) made a freakin' bet with him in the first place! He told me that he'd be filling the house with untold amounts of milk for the next couple months if I didn't follow through, and hell if I'll stand more than a quarter of a gallon in the fridge at a time! Bleccch.

"Roses would be cute," Al smiled kindly. The demon.

"I don't want to be 'cute', Al!" I raged, balling up one of the letter drafts I'd written, "And I don't want to be sentimental! Or romantic! Or girly! Or memorable! Or-or unique! I don't even want to be noticeable, damn it! I want him to toss away whatever I give him and never glance at the sender!"

Al laughed at me. Laughed! What the hell is his problem? Isn't it bad enough that he's forcing me to practically bare my soul to some near-stranger I just happen to like the way that Al likes that little transfer girl? "Ed, you're being over-dramatic, you know that, right?"

"Al! You're forcing me to face the end of the world!"

"Case and point, right there, Brother," Al laughed again. "I think you should just be... classic. A rose and a letter or something. A dozen roses is a bit pricy, so..."

"So I'm not wasting my hard-earned pocket money on a bunch of colorful weeds that will only wilt and wither and die away no matter who the hell I hand them to," I said, "I'm not buying twelve. I'm not buying one. Hell no. Have you seen the prices that those thorny-as-hell weeds go for?"

"You can buy them without thorns..."

"For more money! No thanks!"

"Okay. What about chocolates?" Al suggested. He seemed to be trying to be helpful, but seriously, he was the one _forcing me to do this_, 'helpful' woul dbe to drop this whole shebang and let me get on with my highschool life. Not me having to worry about giving something disgustingly Valentine's-y to a college student who's probably (most likely) straight and probably (definately) into girls more _his _age. A fifteen-year-old like me didn't have a chance in a billion with a nineteen-year-old like him! There's a four year age difference! But I digress.

"What if he's allergic?"

"Hm?" Al gave me a raised eyebrow. A look he reserved for when he thought I was saying something utterly ridiculous.

"He could be allergic!"

"To...?"

"Anything! Nuts, chocolate itself... red food dye..." I trailed off, running out of common candy-fillers rather quickly.

"Ed. You're being ridiculous," Al sighed, "Jean handed him a Snickers. You were ranting to me for days about how friendly Jean was to him. How close. You really screamed 'jealous' for a long time, there..."

"You're exaggerating! Disgustingly! Dammit. You make me sound like a pathetic middle-school girl, Al!" I slamemd my head into the woodgrain of the table, whining.

"That's actually a pretty accurate description of what you were acting like," Al mused.

I made a strangled-cat noise, unintentionally (of course), and glared at Al, "Okay. So he's not allergic to nuts or chocolate. Alright. But chocolates are so expensive! This is my pocket money we're talking about! And I refuse to buy generic crap!"

"I'll give you ten dollars, that should be half the price of a 'good' box of chocolates-"

"But then it would mean nothing!" I interrupted, "If you're paying half, then what the hell is all this for?" You know, in hindsight, I shoul have just taken his money. He _was _making me do all this crap! But I'm rather proud, I admit, so there was no way I would do that.

"Ed, you're being difficult."

"No I'm not." Damn straight I was.

"Okay. So write a letter, or some poetry," Al said, sounding almost as if he were going to give up. But I knew him, oh, I knew him well. He wouldn't give up until he had his way, even if that meant buying roses himself and giving them to that college student I foolishly told him about.

"Poetry is so cliche, and a letter seems weird. I don't actually know the guy, Al. Seriously. I've exchanged maybe a handful of words with him," I grumbled. That might not have been completely true. I run into him at lunch every so often- his lunch period and mine coincided and we just happened to like frequenting the same outdoor location for our meals. And he kicked that one vending machine into submission for me whe it ate my change. That was nice of him.

"You're smiling," Al said, poking me until I came out of my fond reveries.

"Shut up," I glowered. I was too proud to blush about being caught thinking about my crush, so ha. No blush from me, Al!

"Okay. I have an idea." He stopped looking at me with a severe, enlightened expression. He must have had a good idea, from the way his eyes lit up. What the hell was wrong with him? Why wasn't he telling me this idea of his?

"Well? Don't leave me in suspense! Tell me, already!" I demanded, after a short staring contest which I inevitably lost. Al was good at that sort of thing. He could get me to do just about anything short of drinking a glass of milk. ...strike that. He could get me to do just about anything short of drinking a glass of milk _a second time_. He _did _(admittedly) manage to get me to down a glass of milk a few months back. Curse that Jalapeno. (Story for another time, I'm afraid.)

"You should draw him a picture! You're so amazing at drawing! It would be awesome! And it would be cheap, no words involved, no roses, no chocolate, no pocket money! And he could frame it and put it up if he really liked it. Or you could do a painting! Or just a chacoal sketch! Sky's the limit!" Al chattered excitedly.

Surprisingly... the idea was actually quite appealing... I nodded slowly, "O-okay," I said warily, "I suppose I could try that. But no promises about following through! You know how self-conscious I get about what I draw!"

"Yeah. Of course I do, Brother," Al sighed, probably remembering the times I'd withdrawn my projects from art faires for just that reason. Or perhaps the times I'd tossed out sketch books or pictures because of how unsatisfied I was with them. Or the time I was getting a failing grade in Art (until Al intervened) because I refused to show the teacher any of my work. "Don't worry, you're a great artist and anything you will draw will be ten times better than any of the crap that other people give to him!" he smiled at me cheerily.

I smiled back weakly.

xXxXx

I had sat with the blank piece of paper for nearly an hour and a half, pencil clutched too tightly in my hand. I had ideas, sure, but I was almost afraid to draw tem out, sketch them down. I didn't want to see the results of my brainstorming... I didn't want to follow through with any of this.

I gnawed absently on my eraser, flipping on the radio with my free hand. I listened to the music absently for a little while, then set my pencil to the paper tentatively, making my first, wary line. After that, it was easy to continue, the lines came easily and the ideas flowed freely.

It was exhilarating to see the pictures from my head materializing on the paper in front of me, if a bit frightening as well. I mean, who this was for was ever at the front of my mind, even as I lost myself in music and sketching.

Well.

I wasn't happy with the damn thing after the fact, but it was okay, even I could admit to that. Al was raving about how wonderful it was, but he was probably, most likely, trying to encourage me. I absently doodled in my signature- a curvy capital E with a backwards E, or a three, over it so that it looked almost like an eight, with Pb written on one side of it and Au on the other and a light flamel sketched behind the whole thing- while Al raved about the feathers in the black eagle's wing.

It wasn't a romantic picture- it wasn't meant to be- but it had a rose on it. A rose near the bottom taking up the non-signature'd left corner, a black eagle taking up the top of the paper, a chimera over my signature, roaring at the black eagle, my crush reading a book under a tree just over the rose's head, and a sun/moon hybrid thing in the middle of the paper, with clouds and glimmering stars around it. It was more collage than art, in my opinion, just a mashup of the idea floating around my cranium.

But hell if Al cared what I thought. He decided that it was "perfect" and "astounding" and that "no one would be physically able to give him anything nicer". Way to exaggerate, Al. Way to exaggerate.

But I guess it was... good enough. I took it from Al's hands, frowning deeply. Al returned the frown, "You aren't allowed to throw that out, Ed," Al warned me.

"Okay, _Mom_, I won't," I said with an emphatic roll of the eyes. "I wasn't going to. I'm going to go seal it with the cheap ass hairdpray you bought me last month." I slid out of my seat and headed for the bathroom, "And I won't flush it down the toilet either!" I called over my shoulder. There was a long story behind that statement, and I don't feel like divulging it. And the cheap ass hairspray? Al got that so that I could seal my pictures, the cheaper the better after all since all that natural stuff practically goes bad after awhile.

Yeah, so, I sealed the totally-a-collage-and-not-art with the hairspray and brought it back out to Al immediately, to prove that I wasn't getting rid of it... even if I had a few rather... _imaginative _ways that I could have done so. One involved the sink, another involved the bush outside the bathroom window.

Al clapped his hands together, smiling and taking the picture from me, "He'll love it! But you should put his name, and yours, on it." He nodded, "Make it official and all."

"I signed it, isn't that enough?" I grumbled.

"Hardly! You signed it with iron, gold, an eight, and a flamel, Ed," Al gave me a look, the kind of look he usually gave me if I suggested something like eating vegetables frozen because I didn't feel like cooking them.

"Al, come on," I huffed, "I'm not going to do more than this. Seriously. You're killing me with all these demands! And anyway, if I'm physically handing it to him-"

"Which you won't," Al grumbled.

"If I'm physically handing it to him," I repeated, "Then he'll know that, one, it's for him and, two, it's from me. Thus: I don't have to do the whole to/from crap. Kay? End of conversation." I slid the picture into one of the folders I was going to be taking to school. He was _in _the freaking picture. "To: Roy, From: Ed" seemed hardly necessary. And overly embarassing, besides.

Al was right though... I sure as hell wasn't going to be physically handing it to him. I'd probably leave it in his locker or something. Slide it into the locker, I guess... even if I had a pretty good idea what his combination was.

After Al had walked off, muttering something about lunch and homework, I pulled the picture back out of my folder. I really wasn't planning to give it to him in person... so... I should probably put something on it to indicate that it was for him. I flipped the paper over and, with one of the gazillion pencils that hung around the house, I scribbled a quick "To: Roy" in the upper right-hand corner (with my left hand, being a brilliantly ambidextrous guy who favors his left hand as I do/am). I slid it back into the folder and walked into the kitchen to eat whatever lunch Al was making for himself- I wasn't going to make my own, nope. Al could suffer through making a second lunch for all I cared, I mean, seeing what he's putting me through? He can do this much. Hell yeah.

Needless to say, lunch was a quiet affair. Al was grouchy over having his lunch stolen from under his nose and I was grouchy over having to go through with this load of crap, so we were equally grouchy and equally silent- aside from the munching we were doing.

xXxXx

Never before had the school building looked so formidable. Seriously. It looked twice as tall and thrice as dark as I remembered it, leaning over me with angry window-eyes and sharp door-mouths. The tree branches were being like grabby clawed hands and the path looked like a stony, uninviting tongue. The grass looked like a bazillion razor-sharp daggers, the cars looked like minions of the devil, and the people who were milling around looked as bad as if not worse than zombies (though that, actually, was almost normal... a lot of them were teenagers after all).

...Okay. So I had an overactive imagination. Sue me.

I wandered over to the college building, I had some classes there and some in the highschool building, so it wasn't too odd for me to be in there. Of course, being... ah... under the average height for a sixteen-year-old (Iwasmaybeaboutastallasatwelve-or-thirteen-year-oldshutupdamnit!) meant that I still looked rather ridiculously out of place, both in the high school and the college. Sure, I'd skipped ahead two grades and I'd be graduating from highschool this year... but I probably didn't look it. But I digress- severely.

I walked through the halls of lockers, I knew that _his _was locker 627 and that _he _didn't usually get to the college building until ten minutes before class time. I had over an hour before he got there (thanks to Al needing to be here early, being part of the student council which decided that meeting at six was a good idea. It wasn't. Seriously. But that didn't stop me from being jittery and nervous. Hell! I never got this way! This was really disconcerting. Maybe I should see the nurse about it...? No... no. I was overreacting (again).

I stopped in front of locker 627, pulling out the picture and frowning deeply. I just had to get it in the locker, then I could be done with this stupid, stupid day. It was February-freaking-fourteenth, Valentine's, so girls would be swarming the halls to give their cards and crap to the boys (or each other) pretty soon. I don't actually know how soon, becaue I never cared for this holiday, as I'm sure I mentioned.

I sighed, seeing no easy way to get the picture into the locker without bending it, and set down my things to take the lock in my hands. Clockwise to sixteen, counterclockwise to three, clockwise to twenty-seven, counterclockwise to one, clockwise all the way to zero... sixteen, three, twenty-seven, one, zero. It snapped open.

It wasn't just a random guess, honestly. He had it written in his history folder and, while we were eating lunch together a few weeks ago (well, not together, just... in the same spot) he had been doing history homeowork. I saw the numbers and... photographic memory. Not much to tell. I'm not a creeper, I just... remember things.

Okay, well, maybe knowing his locker combination was a bit creepy... whatever. I opened his locker and slid the picture inside, feeling my heart drop in fear of his possible reaction, and churn in disgusted disappointment as I noted the other Valentine items already in there, all pre-bought crap. Maybe Al was right? I quickly closed the locker, resisting the sudden temptation to toss out the other cards and such.

I turned to dart off and ran into one of the college students, "Ey, watch it," I grumbled, glaring at his feet.

"You were the one not watching where you were going, Boss," the man said cheekily.

I may have froze, just a little bit, in recognition of Jean Havoc's voice. Jean was Roy's "bestie" (as my friend-cousin Winry would put it) and if he had seen me put that in Roy's locker, or get into Roy's locker alone, I could be in some big trouble. Gate. Why did this type of crap have to happen to me all the time? "Whatever," I scoffed weakly.

"Bit of a hesitation, there?" Jean chuckled, ruffling my fringes.

I glowered up at him, batting his hand away. Just because I... wasn't his height (notshortdamnitall...) didn't mean he could treat me like a little kid... and mess up my hair. I didn't spend millennia in the bathroom doing it, but that didn't mean I wanted every Tom, Dick, and Stanley messing with my fringes or giving me noogies! "Shut up, Havoc," I grumbled.

"Ooh! Touchy today?" Jean asked, grinning around an unlit cigarette. He shouldn't have that type of stuff around our nonsmoking school, sure, but I wasn't going to report him. I didn't care for smoking, myself, but I didn't mind if others smoked.

"Shaddup," I groused, "I need to go," I stepped around him, shoving my hands in my pockets and attempting to walk off.

"Mm. Well, you may want your backpack, Boss. I'm pretty sure Chief would recognize it as yours, I mean, it's red, black, has a flammel along the side, and has school folders with your name inside them besides," Jean said, grinning cheekily over his shoulder as I froze, hair on the back of my neck standing up. If I had been a cat, I'm sure all my fur would be standing on end at my being caught red-handed like that.

It was, admittedly, pretty stupid to leave my backpack behind. I kept my head down, glower aimed at the floor, as I turned and walked back to Jean, who had gone over and picked up my backpack. He handed it to me. He was probably smirking, but I didn't look up to see. This was the end of it all, I was sure. Jig? Completely up. And I thought I'd been able to get out of directly telling Roy that I liked him...

"So the Chief's got a little secret admirer, then?" Jean asked.

I shrugged weakly.

"Aw, that's cute, Boss!"

"S-shut up, Havoc," I said, forcing my blush to stay down. It was a pretty trying task to keep my face from heating up in embarassment, enough where I almost... didn't feel like... ripping Jean apart for calling me "little".

"I never said it was _you_," Jean pointed out.

"Neither did I," I snapped back in reply, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

"Whatever you say, Boss," Jean winked at me, "I won't tell, it'll be more fun to see if Chief tries to figure it out or not. Knowing you, I'm sure whatever you put in his locker is ten times better than what the other folks put in there-"

"You don't know me," I interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the blond man in front of me. He could be so ridiculous...

"And knowing Chief," he continued, as if I hadn't said anything, "he'll want to know who gave him the nicest thing. Or... maybe he'll just want to find whoever was able to get into his locker to put a completely unwrinkled whatever in there. He doesn't exactly broadcast his locker combination, ya know." He laughed, giving another cheeky wink.

"Shut up, Havoc," I groaned, allowing my palm to meet my forehead. Why on earth did I have to run into him of all people? Jean Havoc was the ever-so-rare male gossip, and Roy's bestie, as previously mentioned.

Jean gave a mock salute and turned back to the lockers, opening locker 633. That explained why he was in that hallway, not that it made me feel any better about running into him. Now I had to worry about his big mouth giving me away (as it eventually would, I was sure, if Roy didn't figure out first).

Sort of needless to say, but I'll say it anyway: school went almost agonizingly slow for me. At lunch I sat in my usual spot, the one _he_, Roy, frequented as well. I put aside the mini carton of milk (curse you, Al... curse you... just because you pack my lunch doesn't mean you get to throw evil beverages into it!) and pulled the tuna-celery-salad sandwich from the depths of my paper lunchbag. I unwrapped it and nibbled at the corner absently, looking over the pages that I was writing about alchemy and its contributions to modern science (for my chemistry class).

"Afternoon, Shortie."

"Who the hell are you calling short?" I grumbled around the bits of crust in my mouth. I gave Roy a stern glare. I was famous for my freakouts over my height, but with Roy I was almost used to being referrede to as "Shortie" and all manner of irritating nicknames. Almost. And I could _almost _forgive him for it. Almost.

"You, of course," Roy answered, taking a seat across from me and laying out his own things. His history homework folder made its way onto the folder. I absently noted that it was still the green one with his locker combination in it. His lunch was bought from the cafeteria- just a salad topped with strips of what the cafeteria called "chicken", what it _actually _was was a mystery- as was his bottle of water.

"Want some milk?" I asked, picking up the mini carton a shaking it. I made a face of disgust.

"What, did it go bad?" Roy joked.

"I wish. But no. My brother packed it into my lunch. I don't do milk, it's disgusting, evil, and makes me want to puke," I replied, putting the milk down and sliding it over to him. "Take it if you want, I'll just be tossing it if you don't. But if it _is_, by some great luck, expired... see if you can't feed it to Jean for me. He called me short. And cute. Expired milk would be a perfect revenge."

"I called you "short", as well," Roy pointed out, grinning.

"I noticed," I said drily, "I'll just eat your homework or something. Then I'll watch you try to explain that to your History teacher." I smirked, the idea was actually mildly appealing. Except the eating-of-Roy's-homework bit, perhaps.

"Oh, I'm sure 'Ed ate my homework' would go over well with my teacher," Roy snorted, "That excuse is right up there with the always-credible 'unicorns blocked up traffic so I was late' and 'aliens wiped my computer so I couldn't get my essay', I'm sure."

"Witty," I observed.

"I always am," Roy replied wiith a smirk, laying a piece of paper over his History homework. He turned it around so that I could see it, "Hey, do you know who drew this?" he asked. My breath caught in my throat as he showed me my own picture. He mistook my look of surprise for one of awe, though, "It's great, isn't it? Someone left it in my locker. I'm interested in finding them."

"Ah... I..." I was saved as the bell for classes rang. Had that much time passed? I mean... I hadn't even finished my lunch! "Oh crap! I gotta go!" I said, laughing nervously as I jumped up, grabbing my bag and the report I had been intent on doing before darting towards the high school building. Pah. I should have just told him. Too late now, though. And it wasn't like he'd even believe me, anyway, I mean... why should he?

xXxXx

I had Advanced Art later in the day, it was the class I had almost failed right out of, but now that I _wasn't _failing, I found the class very relaxing. I loved being able to throw all my energies into making something. It didn't matter if I was painting, sketching, molding, etching. carving, or doing whatever else, art was just... such a calming experience for me.

Well. Usually.

Just... just... damned if some higher being (that I don't believe in) had it in for me today. Honestly. I don't know how much more of this type of thing I can take. Okay... so it wasn't end-of-the-universe bad, yet, it was just... Roy-might-see-your-sketching-and-notice-that-it's-the-same-style-as-the-"mystery"-Valentine bad.

"Okay, class, today we will be drawing a living model," the art teacher, Miss Blaire, said, clapping her hands together and smiling around the room, "He's agreed to dress up in formal Civil War era military attire from the North. Give a warm welcome to Mr. Roy Mustang, or rather, "Colonal" Mustang, students." She stepped aside for Roy- our model for the day- and started clapping, the light applause spreading like an infectious disease until everyone was giving respectful clapping usually reserved for golf courses and lousy school plays.

Roy sat in the stool provided for him, in the direct center of the room. He just _happened _to be directly facing me. He smiled and gave a mock salute before settling in a comfortable pose.

I almost physically slappedd myself when I noted how nicely he looked in the uniform. Almost. If I had slapped myself, I probably would have attracted the attention of a few people... if I were optimistic. If I were pessimistic, I think I'd probably attract all the shrinks within a ten-mile radius.

I rolled my pencil between my palms, glancing from Roy to my paper. I put my pencil to the paper, it being in my right hand (the hand I didn't usually favor). I began to sketch out Roy's outline, fazing out so that all I saw was paper, pencil, and model.

By the end of class, my picture was practically finished. I never took my time on projects, I wanted them done as soon as possible, always.

"You're really good," Roy said, standing behind me.

I jumped a bit, "I don't think so," I snapped irritably, shoving my pencil into its case. It was just a number two pencil, nothing special, I didn't really like all the different sketching pencils, usually, though I did use a 2B pencil for sketching in Roy's hair, and a 2H pencil to detail the eyes. Eyes were my favourite thing to draw.

"Well, I can't see why not," Roy laughed, "Have you seen the other sketches? Yours is definately the best here, Ed."

I hid a blush by ducking my head, looking through my pencil pouch as if to see if I had all my drawing implements in there. They were all there, I already knew, so my poking through it was more than useless. How the hell was Roy able to make my face heat up so easily? You'd think he'd have to put a little effort into it at least, but no! "Whatever," he grumbled out.

Roy continued to admire my sketch, practically leaning into me while he inspected it, "You really drew all this during class?" he asked.

"I don't waste time," I said, pushing him a little in an attempt to alert him of his being way too close to me. He didn't take the hin, only stepping a little to one side, still brushing up against my shoulder as he looked over the sketch.

A look of mild revelation came into his eyes, a look I wasn't too keen to see right now, to be honest. "Aren't you left-handed?" Roy asked.

"I favor my left, sure, but I'm ambidexterous," I said haughtily, huffing a little, "Why?"

"You drew this with your right hand, so... this isn't your best?" Roy asked.

"Look. It most certainly is my best, even if it's not quite as good as my left-handed sketches," I snapped, taking offense. I put my pencil case in my backpack and shouldered it, intent on leaving on that less-than-friendly note.

"Would you sketch something for me?" Roy asked, "With your favored hand?"

I stopped in my huff, giving him a suspicious look, "Well... I'm not about to waste half a day on some lousy sketch," I told him, shifting from foot to foot, "What do you want me to draw?" I was screwed, really. I couldn't _not _do as he requested, not while this all too human, overly bothersome, hellish crush was going on.

"A tree," Roy said promptly, "And a book."

"Alright..." I dug through my bag until I felt a pencil. It was just a mechanical pencil, but honestly, those were my favorite to draw with. I also tugged out one of my sketchbooks- of which I tended to carry around a good three, for no reason other than the fact that I didn't want Al going through them (again). "Any particular tree? Like... an apple tree, or a maple tree, or a pine tree?"

"The one our table is under," Roy said, still unhesitant. I actually saw where this was going. I saw the suspicions wandering around Roy's head, just behind his beautifully piercing eyes. My favorite thing to draw were his eyes. Not just _eyes _in general, but his eyes.

I shrugged, flipping through my sketchbook until I came to a blank page. Roy looked amazed with the brief glimpses he caught of chimeras and pegasi and other creatures that inhabited the pages of this sketchbook, and damned if that didn't make me feel just a bit better about this whole drawing thing. Roy, the guy I liked, liked my sketched. I began sketching down the tree under which out table sat, lining it quickly and, admittedly, rather sloppily. I absently drew in the table and threw the requested book on top of that, making it a mathematics book.

Glancing at the clock, I saw that I only had a little time to get to my next class- two or three minutes- so I stopped sketching, scribbled my signature in the corner absently, and tore the page out, handing it to Roy and darting past him. I couldn't be late for Chemistry! It was my favourite class outside of art.

Roy smirked at the sketch, raising his hand in farewell. It didn't take a frigging genius to figure out that he'd made an art-related revaltion. Damn. He probably knew that me and his secret admirer were the same person now. _Especially since I just signed the damn thing_... well... I'll have to see about that later. Right now, I just needed to get to class before the last bell rang. Tardy to chemistry? Me? Not a thirteenth time this year, dammit!

xXxXx

I was feeling jittery and almost sick to my stomach by the time school ended for me. I sprawled myself across the picnic tabletop under that tree Roy had had me sketch, just taking in the chill spring air and trying to settle my nervous stomach. If he knew, would he stop talking to me? Would he go all homophobe on me? Would he hate on me for liking him?

Damn...

I didn't realize I cared this much... I really didn't.

"You okay, shrimp? You look a bit green?"

That would be Roy. As far as I knew, he didn't usually come to the table after school. But whatever. I groaned, glaring up at him from my awkward, sprawling position, "Who the hell are you calling... eh..." I waved him off unenthusiastically, "Whatever..."

"I have a ginger ale in my backpack if you'd like it," he offered.

"Fork it over," I said. I could have said "please", but that just wasn't very... me.

Roy smirked, digging through his backpack and pulling out a glorious can of stomach-settling, ginger-flavored, corbonated sugar water. He even popped it open for me, sitting down on the bench right next to me and holding it out. I took it gratefully and sipped at it, lifting my head and torso from the tabletop to do so. While I sipped the soda, Roy pulled a folder from his backpack, sliding two sheets of paper from them and setting them carefully in front of me. One was the sketch I'd made earlier that week and put into his locker, the other was the sketch I'd made for him at the end of Art Class.

I glanced from the pictures to Roy.

"You drew them both, right?" he asked. Of course I did. My signature in the left hand corners of either sketch proved as much.

I shrugged, sipping the soda again and looking away from him, "So what if I did?" I asked.

Roy was silent for a good few seconds. A good few seconds in which my stomach wanted to rebel and heave up all the things I'd eaten that day. A good few seconds were I was afraid of the young man sitting next to me. But then he chuckled, I glowered at him for that chuckle. How dare the bastard laugh at me!

"It's beautiful, Edward. Thank you," he said, picking both sketches up again and putting them in his folder. "The best Valentine I recieved. Though I do wonder... do you like me _that _way? I always thought you were... well... more for the ladies."

"Eh. I can't help it," I grumbled, setting my chin on my arms. Honestly. It wasn't like I _chose _to have a crush on him. It wasn't like I _chose _to have a crush on a guy at all. I can't help what I like, all I can do is accept... myself.

"Hm," Roy said quietly, he stood up, "I need to be heading home. Do you and your brother need a ride?"

"We don't _need _one, but it'd make things a hell of a lot easier," I replied, swining around on the bench so that I was still facing Roy. "Of course, Al won't want to trouble you. Me? I couldn't care less if we caused you trouble. So if you're offering, I'm accepting."

"Some crush you are," Roy teased.

I rolled my eyes, "I'm not your run-of-the-mill crush, Mustang. You wouldn't even have a Valentine from me if it weren't for Al, honestly. I don't do that crap."

"So you lost a bet?" Roy looked amused at this notion.

"Precisely."

He looked off to one side for a few seconds, still smiling. "You know. I'm glad you lost that bet, then." Why? Something to hold over my head? Is that it, Mustang? He turned back to me, leaning over and placing a chaste kiss on my cheek. My glower deepened as my face heated up.

"Don't do that!" I snapped, rubbing at my cheek where he'd kissed me, as if trying to get the red to go away.

Roy laughed, "But I want to," he said, swooping in like an annoying, French-fry-stealing seagull and kissing me again in the same place. I turned to him to give him an earful, but only managed to give him another opening and recieve, quite by accident, a most unromantic first kiss. Oh... Gate. I wouldn't have traded it for anything, to be competely honest with you. Well. Maybe I would have traded it for sanity, because I seemed to be woefull lacking that right now.

Well. That's what happens when you fall for a bastard, I guess. Sanity is a small price to pay, though, because I think I just gained my first boyfriend. On Valentine's Day, no less. That seems like a good place to end my little story.

...But Valentine's Day still sucks, believe me.


End file.
